


Return Post

by eloquated



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, M/M, Post A Stitch In Time, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquated/pseuds/eloquated
Summary: Would it be terrible form to admit how happy I was to receive your letter?  Or that I've read it through several times, and still don't entirely know how to respond to it?I'm sure you're giving the monitor your patented look of long suffering amusement -- and probably have some sardonic comment about the inefficiency of my memory, if I had to read your letter more than once.I assure you, my memory is as fine as ever...After reading the letter of Garak's life, Julian knows he has to reply.  And come to terms with some of his own ghosts.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	Return Post

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something with this ship for a million years, and finishing A Stitch In Time finally gave me the kick in the bum I needed to do it!
> 
> This can be read as either platonic or pre-slash, depending on the strength of your shippy glasses!

My dear Garak, 

Would it be terrible form to admit how happy I was to receive your letter? Or that I've read it through several times, and still don't entirely know how to respond to it? 

I'm sure you're giving the monitor your patented look of long suffering amusement -- and probably have some sardonic comment about the inefficiency of my memory, if I had to read your letter more than once.

I assure you, my memory is as fine as ever. 

But I always feel as though I have to turn your words over and over, just to make sure I've got the meaning of them. And even then, I'm never quite sure.

On first reading, I think most of my mind was occupied with shock, and a measure of suspicion. Even you must admit to the unexpectedness of receiving what amounts to a memoir with my morning post! 

It feels like I've spent a lifetime trying to wriggle the truth out of you, and having it all written out in black and white seemed far too easy. 

It's been so long since we've spoken properly. And I can only imagine, even with the details in your letter, how busy the rebuilding must keep you. But you've always said I was impatient, so maybe it's not such a surprise that I'm proving you right.

I'm sure that seems ironic, given how long it's taken for me to reply to your memoir, but you haven't seen all the drafts of this letter I've already discarded!

Is it strange to admit how I've missed you? 

Of course, I have to take half the blame for the long silence (but only half, no matter how your Cardassian math may reckon it!)

Even when you were here, it seemed like I couldn't bridge the distance between us. A casualty of war, I told myself. After all, how could I possibly understand what you were going through? My people were fighting, but we knew who our enemy was. For the most part, I knew where I stood with the Federation, and with Starfleet.

You had no such reassurance, and I had no idea how to offer comfort without sounding insincere or patronizing, and that was the very last thing I wanted.

I think, in a lot of ways, you'd become my touchstone in the early days of the war. A steady, if enigmatic person, and our lunches together were the highlight of my week for a long time. And it seemed silly to miss you when you were on the same station. 

After all, it wasn't as though you'd vanished. 

But things had changed, hadn't they? I'm not sure when, but I wish I'd been more aware of it at the time. Maybe then we could have stopped it.

I don't know what I would have done differently, but you should know how many times I walked by your shop and wished I could find an excuse to stop in. I'm sorry I didn't when I had the chance.

That space is a Betazoid chocolaterie now, I think you'd approve.

The war took so much from everyone, and by the end I'm not certain any of us had the energy to face all of our evasions, betrayals, or half truths. 

I wasn't there when you needed me, and I hope someday you can forgive me for my silences. 

I should have done more. If not then, than after. And I'm sorry that I didn't. 

But I can only try to take the lesson of your letter to heart and keep the lines of communication open between us in the future. 

It's been far too quiet around here without you. 

In the wake of the war, we've all had our demons to contend with. It's still difficult to believe that the history books will say this all happened in the course of two years. Most of the time it feels like a lifetime.

When this all began, I had hope that good would ultimately triumph over evil, and that things would return to normal. I know I wasn't the only one, but I can forgive their ignorance more easily than my own. And perhaps it's the lot of every doctor that finds themselves on the front lines, but it's impossible not to wonder who else I could have saved.

Had I been faster, more organized. Had I spent a few more hours in the infirmary, who else could be going home to their family? It's all speculation and self recrimination at this point, but don't we all wonder how things might have been different? 

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I understand your need to have someone witness your memoir. You're not looking for an audience for another of your stories, are you? I think witness was a word chosen carefully.

You want someone to judge the works of your life and the choices you've made. To be the checks and balances that you're too biased to be for yourself.

Of course, tell me if I'm entirely wrong. 

I don't believe I could have understood that at the beginning of the war. But facing death, and my own morality, has brought perspective. 

I'm not certain I believe in good and evil the way I once did. Medals and commendations feel as heavy on my chest as the praise I don't feel I've earned. I'm not certain I'm the hero of my own story anymore. 

And if the war has caused me to question and re-question everything I once took for granted, I can only imagine how much deeper the shock waves must run for you. 

Ezri frequently reminds me that grief is a process, and I shouldn't expect to make my peace with everything overnight. But grieving feels self indulgent when there are people that have lost so much more. How could I possibly take that time when people are still suffering? 

Besides, I'm not even sure where I would start. 

Do you ever find yourself looking at your reflection in the mirror, and wonder just who the person is staring back at you? I was fifteen the first time I realized I was doing it, not long after I'd discovered the truth of my augmentations.

You see? Self indulgent. This letter was supposed to be about the things you'd said in your memoir, and here I've turned it into something about me. I suppose it's partially the curse of the medium:

I don't have you to interrupt me, and so my thoughts ramble off on their own paths. 

I owe you an apology. No, not for the rambling-- I rather think that ship set sail years ago, and most of the time you didn't seem to mind too much, I hope. No, I must apologize for remaining on DS9 after --

After.

I was still reeling, and everything was changing. I couldn't stomach the idea of any more change when my life already felt like it was unraveling. I wanted to be there with you, and I wanted to help-- I still do. But on some level I knew that I could hardly help myself, much less anyone else.

And I couldn't find the strength to give up the life I'd fought so hard for.

Maybe it's understandable, but mostly it feels like weakness and cowardice. 

I should have been there. That much I know.

Have you ever heard the word 'hiraeth'? I'm not sure there's any Kardasi translation, but it's a strange feeling. A longing for a place you've never been, and never seen. For a home that might never have existed.

It's been my constant companion since I opened your letter. 

I can feel the love you have for Cardassia, even now. Perhaps especially now, when she needs you so desperately. I've never had that all-consuming love for anywhere I've lived. It all seemed temporary, a stepping stone to something else. Maybe I know why, now.

I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and apparently your love makes for a powerful lens. In the pictures I'd seen, Cardassia always looked so sharp and inhospitable. But after finishing your letter for the third time, I looked again. I might not understand your unwavering dedication to the State, but I'm starting to see why home is so beautiful to you.

I want to know more. And I want to see it through your eyes. 

Maybe it was unavoidable, something I've been leaning towards from the first time you slid me a Cardassian novel across the table in the Replimat, and all but demanded that I read it. 

I might never understand your love for those repetitive epics, but I'm not sure I have the right perspective from where I'm sitting.

Which brings me around to the point of this very late letter.

Five years ago, had someone told me I would be waiting for my shuttle to leave for Cardassia Prime, I would have thought they were mad. DS9 was more than enough of the frontier for me! 

I think I've known for a while that my road wasn't ending on the space station, as much as I might have liked to pretend it would. I couldn't fathom what came next, until I read your memoir. 

Now it seems almost simple.

Of course I know where I'm supposed to be. And what I'm supposed to be doing there.

By the time this reaches you I'll already be on my way, armed with the medical supplies your interim government so desperately needs--

And the best of my stubborn resolve.

There's already been too much time, and too much silence between us.

Your friend, Dr. Parmak, has offered me a place at his clinic. Don't be too cross with him, I swore him to secrecy when I wasn't sure if Starfleet would give me the leave of absence I requested. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, including my own.

I want to see your monuments, and your orchids. I want to walk the streets you loved. But more than anything, I want to sit with you under the same roof, and to breathe the same air-- no matter how dusty it may be.

We have six months for you to show me how beautiful, better things can grow in your new Cardassia. 

I'm not sure that's something a spy could teach me, but I believe a gardener can.

The shuttle is boarding, so I'll have to stop my letter here, otherwise it won't reach you before I do!

I'll see you in a few days.

Julian

**Author's Note:**

> 💕


End file.
